Red is Not the Only Color
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: Gilbert receives a message from a total stranger, a man named Alfred, who introduces him to a Project called Sky Lights, that insists all it takes to save the world is an occasional murder and a side of friendship.


_I do not own Hetalia. T__he plot, the Project, the ideas, and the other characters are mine. _

_Rated M for: violence, language, vulgarities, and certain ideas you don't want in your head._

**Chapter 1**

_The Project_

Well, okay, who the hell was this?

Gilbert stared at his screen, wondering who had sent him an email. It wasn't from his multitude of exes begging for money, for him, for forgiveness, for an apology, and it wasn't from any of his close friends. They barely contacted him through email. In fact, he didn't even know half of their addresses. So it must be a stranger, Gilbert decided.

He stretched and yawned, groping in the semi-darkness for a can of soda he had opened earlier. His eyes remained on the screen, reading the name of the sender. _Alfred F. Jones_. Gilbert had never heard that name before. He grabbed the can. It cackled and the fizzed as he brought it to his lips. He hesitated a moment, taking a pensive sip. Outside the window soft rain dripped down from a constantly moody sky. His neighbor's cat howled and his neighbor howled to, breaking something against the thin walls that barely provided privacy.

"You big ol' bastard!" She cried.

Gilbert picked up a half-deflated basketball and flung it at the door.

"Shut the fuck up!" he cried.

There was a murmuring, a gurgled apology, and then a brief period of silence. Gilbert enjoyed it while it lasted. Not a minute later it started up again, like a brewing storm. He grunted and plugged in his headphones, pumping some metal music through them.

"Maybe this will help…" he told himself. He picked up his laptop and its cord, dragging it along to his rumpled bed. He sat down, pulling his clothes off, and couldn't understand why his heart beat so madly everytime he saw the new message, a bright blue dot next to it, begging him to read.

With his clothing off and with him settled, he set the laptop on its designated position, and read.

_"Hello my name is Alfred F. Jones. You must be wondering why I sent you an email at this time. I was browsing through my old emails and I found this address." _

Here Alfred had typed up an address almost exactly like Gilbert's, save for one vital letter. Gilbert gave a long sigh, as if Alfred could hear him. When typing it in he had misspelled it and now was chatting with a complete stranger, probably in a completely different time zone. Gilbert scratched his neck, his red eyes irritated from staying up too late, again.

"_And I was wondering who you might be in relation to the Sky Lights Project. Please contact me as soon as possible, thank you!"_

What the hell was the "_Sky Lights Project_"?

Gilbert continued to stare and to conjecture. It could be a secret gang trying to kill him, but he had done nothing wrong thus far. It could be an old friend playing a prank. It was a weak joke but he did have some unfunny friends who laughed when the weak were kicked and nearly died of glee when an obese woman dropped her hat in the fountain and scrambled for it. Gilbert had stood by, watching the beasts howl with mirth, and he tried to grin but all he saw was a poor woman in an unfortunate situation.

He couldn't remember the last time he laughed hard.

Maybe he could pretend to have something to do with this so-called project. Maybe he could dupe the poor fellow Alfred. A thousand maybes spiralled into existence and Gilbert fought not to drown in them.

But first, to trick the guy, he must know what the Sky Lights Project even is. He decided to ask the internet. It provided no information until one, measly little site offering a non-profit organization. To what, Gilbert didn't know. He clicked on the link anyway.

A bright blue screen popped up, with minor animations along the sides.

_Welcome to Sky Lights Project! We are here to create a better future for all of mankind._

Gilbert was taken aback. What a bold statement for a limp idea to make. His mouse hovered over the "About" page for a moment. Then he spotted a yellow and orange banner along the side of the archaic lay out.

_Are you interested in building a new world? _

The idea struck Gilbert mute. He raised his head from the computer and looked around his messy room. A bathroom stuck out of one corner, a kitchen from the next. Unwashed pots and pans piled up along the sink. The bathroom was clean, but untidy. His toothbrush, toothpaste, brushes, products, and soap bars lay as though after a drunken party along the counter. A towel was across the bathtub, sopping wet from his earlier shower. For a low-class apartment complex, the plumbing was fairly decent.

In the other room he heard panting and moaning. He was tempted to tell them to fuck off, or stop fucking in this case, but he found he had no energy or motive to do so. In another room he could hear the muffled sound of a sports broadcaster. In another he heard a vacuum running. He lived in a beehive of noise and he hadn't noticed until that moment.

His attention went next to his fingers. The nails were low crescents, victims of his teeth and bad habits. His skin was pale and blotchy, a side-effect of being albino.

Maybe he _was_ interested in saving the world, in building a new one. He went to his emails and sent one to Alfred.

_Hello, you contacted the wrong person. However I took a look at your Sky Lights Project and I'm really interested now in knowing more about it. I'd like to help build a new world._

_Let me know as soon as possible what you think,_

_Gilbert B. _

Gilbert sent it. He watched the bubble spin and then vanish with a satisfying ding piercing his music. One ear bud hung from his ear, allowing a constant reminder of where he lived to flow into his mind.

Almost immediately he received a reply. The third surprise. He didn't think anyone else would be awake at this time. Gilbert licked his lips shyly and looked at the message.

_I apologize sincerely for sending you the wrong message. _

_Thank you for your interest, but I actually asked the original person what the project is, since I have no idea myself. Maybe we could look into it together? It seems very interesting and I wouldn't mind saving the world. It would be a good way to spend my time. I'm on earth for only so long so I may as well leave a mark as big and deep as I can. _

Gilbert smiled. He liked the stranger already.

_No need to apologize, Alfred. _

_I feel you. I want to get rid of this sudden feeling of being irretrievably lost in life. After college I pretty much lost all hope. I moved into a shabby apartment complex and now I work _

Gilbert paused. Should he be telling this complete and total stranger what he worked as? Who he worked for? He could have someone spying on his every move right now. The thin hairs along his back prickled.

Then again, what could they do to him that could possibly make his situation worse? If they did kill him at least there would be some excitement along with it. Maybe he could have one last adventure before his finite adventure on this little planet drew to an end.

_...now I work as an engineer. I don't have a real passion for it, though, even though they say I'm very good at it. I don't think it does anything truly meaningful._

_Sorry to expel all my thoughts on you like this. I felt the need to expose, you know?_

Gilbert hesitated after he hit "send". He frowned. He felt that he had just embarrassed himself. He should have at least revised the message, or maybe he shouldn't have sent it at all and just gone to sleep like a normal person. He didn't work till two the next… no, it was already one in the morning. He had over twelve hours left. He needed eight hours of sleep. One hour to prepare for work. Then he had three hours of free time. Or three more hours to keep talking with Alfred.

The reply came later than anticipated, but at least it was kind of lengthy.

_Oh I totally understand! I feel like that sometimes too, so I hope you don't mind if I do it here. _

_I agree. I worked _(past tense? What happened? Gilbert frowned) _as a technician, so close to your profession. I felt no vigor for it and I still have no desire to work or do anything. I have a lazy want of changing the world but everytime I think that I feel so prestigious, like I shouldn't be saying that since I can never do it. _

_As I looked into the project I realized that they can do it. Sure as hell they can! They don't plan on doing empty charities or false advertising or inspiring people to do anything. I can't really figure out what they want except that they plan on "teaching" or something like that. _

_Anyway, it also says that you have to call this number, any time, and then visit some place. Wouldn't that be nice? _

Gilbert went back to the site, just after typing a quick _I'm calling the number_.

The number was free to call. He picked up his cell phone, noticing several text messages lining his screen. Most were from Antonio inviting him to a restaurant. One was from Francis who was elated by the play he recently watched. The messages were stale, nearly thirteen hours old. Where had the time gone? Where was Gilbert during the past few hours of his life?

Now he felt alive, he realized. Now he had purpose. Now he had a reason to continue and to forge forwards. He held the cell phone to his ear. After three, melodious rings a woman's voice picked up.

"Hello, this is the Sky Lights Project Manager, Sonya, speaking." She sounded calm, almost seductive.

Behind him someone slammed the phone into a receiver. The neighbors began to bicker loudly in a foreign language akin to Italian. The other neighbors would moan and turn their heads. The newcomers would complain to the lobby and receive a polite nod and no help whatsoever. Gilbert learned this first hand.

"Hey, this is Gilbert." Gilbert said. "I just visited your site and I can say I'm pretty interested."

"That's great to hear, sir." Sonya said merrily. She sounded wide-awake. Maybe it was morning or afternoon where she was. "We haven't had a new member for three years. It would be great to have our company expand."

"What exactly do I have to do?"

Sonya's next words left Gilbert speechless. He said a brief good-bye, an automatic "I'll consider it", and he went to the email. He was about to tell Alfred what he was told to do, but he was afraid the government or someone would trace his emails and find what he was doing, therefore linking him to the more than likely taboo, black market company. Gilbert licked his dry lips nervously. He decided to send it nervously, feeling his heart's thuds echo emptily in his chest.

_The lady said that in order to join, we would have to stop existing. _


End file.
